


the fate of a star

by dearestwinter



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Sickfic, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Terminal Illness (temporary), found family trope, not beta read we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearestwinter/pseuds/dearestwinter
Summary: Witchers are not capable of feeling.Well, whoever said that must have never known a witcher because this one’s feeling a lot of things right the fuck now.//Or the one in which Jaskier ages, and Geralt takes it into his own hands to fish for a djinn a second time.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 63
Kudos: 1755





	the fate of a star

**Author's Note:**

> i've spent four hours writing this while i was crying, so enjoy.
> 
> comments inspire me a lot to keep writing!
> 
> i don't own anything, this was written just for fun.

Geralt wants to find the first person who’s ever said Witchers are not capable of feeling, and smash their head on the nearest hard surface.

That’s what he thinks as he enters the bedroom. Not even once in the thousands of times he comes to visit Jaskier does he not feel the too painful stab of heartbreak, as if he could feel the slow beating thing shatter over and over again.

Jaskier is almost never awake when Geralt comes now. Geralt isn’t even sure the former bard can register his husband’s presence even when he  _ is  _ awake. Don’t misunderstand him, Jaskier is still as lucid as ever, just that the grogginess that comes with all the drugs in his system to soothe the pain makes him a semi-inert being, lying on that white and big bed. And that’s when he’s not coughing up blood on his handkerchief, making such a pitiful noise that Geralt fears Jaskier’s heart along with his is going to stop beating right then.

_ Witchers are not capable of feeling,  _ Geralt thinks as he pours cool water in a glass and gently shakes Jaskier’s shoulder,  _ what a load of crap. _

Age is nothing for a Witcher, but for a human being is the cruellest thing in the world. Geralt has lived enough lifetimes for the both of them, and still he will never know what it feels like for his body to wither and sicken and die. He can’t fathom his strength to ever fail him, not being able to lift a sword although he rarely does it now. He retired some ten years ago when Jaskier couldn’t follow him on the Path anymore, when his body ached too much for him to sleep on the ground beneath a sky full of stars. They bought a little cottage near the edge of the world, where Geralt could farm their food and help around the village to get some coin for other necessities. Jaskier, meanwhile, made it his job to plant flowers and trees on the fertile land. His little field of dandelions had been a wonder even to Geralt, who in another life would have thought planting flowers that had no healing properties to be a waste of time.

He can see the dandelions from their window overlooking the field. That’s why they had picked this bedroom to be theirs, when Jaskier, true to his nature, had complained that he wanted to see them grow under the sun in all their bright-yellow splendor. Geralt, as with many things (who is he kidding? He can’t deny his little bard anything), had obliged. A year ago was the last time Jaskier had gone over to the field to plant his dandelions, when his legs still were strong enough to carry him there albeit slowly. Now he can barely walk a few feet to where the bathroom is, and that only on his good days.

Geralt’s chest squeezes again.

One thing that hasn’t changed about Jaskier is the color of his eyes. Two warm cornflower blue orbs look at Geralt like time has never passed around them. Geralt smiles down at him, brushing aside a lock of now white hair from Jaskier’s forehead. His breathing is rattled as it always is now, his heartbeat irregular. It has been this way for a few months now, but Geralt knows he will never get used to it. Not when Jaskier as a young man had been one of the healthiest people Geralt knew.

“Morning,” he tells Jaskier, his palm resting on a warm wrinkled cheek. “Are you thirsty?”

Jaskier nods, and his hand find Geralt’s amid the chaos of blankets. Geralt raises the glass to his husband’s lips, a metal straw parting them and lets Jaskier drink as much as he pleases. Not too fast, though, hence the straw. Geralt would not make the same mistake again like he did a couple of weeks ago, to let him drink what would be the normal amount for a younger man, all at once. He doesn’t care to see Jaskier’s face turning purple from the lack of air again.

Jaskier’s hand squeezes his when he’s done, and Geralt takes the glass from him. He kisses Jaskier’s knuckles as he gets up to pull away the curtains and letting the sunlight come in.

“It’s a nice day, my love. See how bright your dandelions are today? That’s Adelene’s work. She’s been taking good care of them for you.”

Jaskier’s eyes brighten a little bit more at the mention of Adelene. Her grandmother had been the previous owner of Geralt and Jaskier’s cottage; a stooped old lady, but the kindest woman Geralt has ever met. She hadn’t been afraid of him when she first laid eyes on him, even arguing that having a Witcher around, even if it was a retired one, would be amazing to chase the monsters and other wild things away. Her granddaughter Adelene, a girl of seven with her wide green eyes and sweet wit, had befriended Jaskier almost on the spot. It was rare for Geralt to see them apart when he came back from the village, be it Jaskier teaching her all about flowers and trees and how to take care of them, or just the two of them sipping hot chocolate on the porch and enjoying the sunset.

Then the day had come when a plague visited the little village, and took Adelene’s grandmother with it. Geralt buried the woman himself in a field of daisies that Jaskier had taught the girl to plant. Adelene’s been living with them since then, helping Geralt to look after Jaskier when he needs to work. He’s lost count of how many times he came home only to stop outside the bedroom door, just hearing Adelene’s sweet voice telling Jaskier a tale or the things she’s done or seen that day. Geralt particularly enjoys the times he can listen to Adelene singing Jaskier a lullaby to sleep.

Jaskier watches the dandelions for a while before his eyes search Geralt’s and he gestures with his hands,  _ Where is Adelene? _

“She’s at the stables. She offered to give Roach a good rub.”

Jaskier nods, satisfied with Geralt’s answer, and makes himself comfortable against the headboard to rest. Geralt’s proud of him for making the effort of staying awake for so long, but he doesn’t say it. Ever since Jaskier lost his voice half a year ago, Geralt has gotten quite good at guessing the man’s wants, needs, and moods. Geralt can’t be charged guilty of being an intuitive person, even after so many years by Jaskier’s side. But he can make do, and after all, Jaskier’s always been a very expressive man. Old age has not changed that. Still, it hurts not to hear him anymore, even the fillingless pie singing voice that made Geralt fall in love with Jaskier and made him discover, much to his chagrin, that it was actually the sweetest and most stuffed pie in the world.

Geralt goes back to the kitchen, where he opens the cabinets and starts taking some supplies that will sustain him and his horse on the road. Roach is a swift horse, so if he can make a good time, he can get to the lake in a couple of days. Geralt’s nightmare last night had convinced him to take the first step; the djinn attacking Jaskier all over again as it had almost thirty years ago, but this time the wretched spirit didn’t just leave, but came back and finished the job. When Geralt woke up drenched in sweat and with Jaskier’s name on his lips, he had to run to the bathroom and wash his hands twice before realizing they were not covered with his husband’s blood.

It was then that Geralt knew what he had to do. If destiny was going to make him dream about the djinn again, he would take whatever advice it was trying to give him.

Geralt stops by the stables, saddlebag in hand, and sees Adelene talking softly to a very clean Roach about nothing in particular. It reminds him of when Jaskier used to do the same back on the Path, when he got tired of Geralt’s curt answers to his endless questions and Roach with her huffs seemed to be a better talking companion. Adelene smiles sweetly at him before hopping down the stool where she had been seated. The little girl had impressed Geralt once more (as if she didn’t do it enough) this morning when she  _ demanded  _ to know where he was going and for how many days he would be away. Geralt, absolute fool that he is, couldn’t find it in him to lie to her so he had told her the plan on the condition she wouldn’t upset Jaskier by telling him.

Adelene had understood and not made too many questions, for which Geralt was grateful. Still, they couldn’t leave Jaskier out in the dark about it since the plan concerned his very life, so Adelene had instructions not to tell him until she makes sure it worked.

Geralt takes out something from his coat pocket and lies it on his palm for Adelene to take. At first sight it looks like a shard from a smashed looking glass, but they know better. In her last visit, Yennefer had been kind enough to give it to him when she gazed upon Adelene’s hand holding Jaskier’s tightly as the sorceress used her magic to ease the pain in his lungs.

“Use it only in emergencies, Geralt. When you need to contact the little girl or viceversa, just picture each other’s faces while staring into your own reflections and you will be able to communicate with each other.” Were her last words to him before she placed the shards on the kitchen table and then conjured a portal to disappear in thin air.

Now it is Geralt’s turn to rely this information to Adelene. He realizes the girl is so wise for her years as she not only hears but  _ listens  _ to his every word and warnings. Geralt knew it back then when he told her about the plan, but now he can see so clearly how much Adelene actually loves Jaskier, and he’s assaulted by a wave of fondness so strong that it threatens to sweep him off his feet. Adelene takes the shard and places it in her overall front pocket when she’s told by Geralt to keep it on her all the time except when she goes to sleep so she won’t cut herself.

He gives a little nod at her agreement and runs a big hand through her auburn hair in goodbye when she grabs his hand. He looks down and for the first time since Adelene’s grandmother passed away, Geralt sees unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

“Save him, Geralt,” she says softly, but he can hear her loud and clear. “Jaskier is too good to die, so he needs to stay with us.”

“I will.”

Geralt can’t think of something else to say, some comfort to give Adelene for when he’s away, but he knows he can’t promise her anything. He’s lived too long to know that it is up to destiny now if the plan works or not, but he at least needs to try before it’s too late. As he climbs on top of Roach, he hopes that Adelene can figure it out on her own.

On the way out of town, Geralt passes by Ammie’s house. She’s their nearest neighbor, a widow with three children. She’s squatting by the pen on her frontyard, collecting the eggs in a wooden basket. When she hears Roach’s trods, she looks up and waves at Geralt. He might not be dressed as a witcher anymore, but he still has the eyes and hair of one. Still, it’s been a long time since her scent last turned sour with fear. He nods at her in acknowledgement and continues his way. He had requested Ammie to keep an eye on Adelene and Jaskier as payment for chasing away the poltergeist that was bothering her and the children at home.

Nothing of consequence happens on his way to the lake, and Roach makes a quicker time than she would normally, to Geralt’s insistence. He tries to placate her, promising many rub downs by his own hand and plenty of carrots to eat, but when he looks at her, her deep dark eyes even seem understanding.

The lake is quiet, the morning sunshine beating down on the water and giving it a golden glint. There’s a mountain with a snowy peak in the distance, and Geralt spares a thought for the elves probably living there. He would like to know how they are faring these days, if it were another time. Now he has a task to set his mind to.

Fishing for a djinn a second time is as tiresome and annoyingly frustrating as it was the first time. Although Geralt has to admit that it could be worse, since he’s not sleepless right now. Another kind of worry tugs at his heart; the worry that he might not find a vase with a djinn trapped inside, that if he does find it, it might not work a second time. The worry that something could happen back home and he’s not there to save Adelene and Jaskier. The two people he would do anything in this world to keep out of harm’s way.

As he throws the fishing net high in the air once again, Geralt remembers a few nights past when he woke up to Jaskier’s coughing. He had tried to get up on his own, and the sudden movements had left him breathless. Geralt had rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe him, but when the coughing didn’t stop and the blood started to stain Jaskier’s hands and the floor, Geralt’s heart broke. But what was the final straw was Jaskier’s eyes locked in his, pleading blue eyes that could not find a voice, but Geralt understood him perfectly.  _ I don’t want to die. _

Geralt sits down on the ground, back to a tree, and curses. He’s a witcher, and witchers are not capable of feeling. Well, whoever said that must have never known a witcher because this one’s feeling  _ a lot _ of things right the fuck now. Worry, and sadness, and heartbreak. What was what Jaskier had said once?  _ You smell of heartbreak.  _ But he surely didn’t mean this kind of heartbreak, right? Because Geralt is sure he has never felt something like this before. 

A tug.

Something heavy is weighting the net down.

Geralt doesn’t even  _ think  _ as he starts pulling it out of the water. His mind doesn’t even register the heavy vase with a wizard’s seal until he’s ripping apart the net to get at it. The vase is covered with mud and algae but Geralt could pepper it with kisses as he cradles it to his chest like a newborn babe. He wastes no time; he gets up and pulls out the seal.

_ Well, that’s a bit of an anticlimax. _

Geralt can hear Jaskier’s words as he waits. One, two, three…

A sudden wind blows the scattered leaves on the ground right in Geralt’s face, but he doesn’t care because he can see the djinn. The black shadow tries to flee, and Geralt is taken thirty years back in time when he casted Aard to make it stop. He does, and can feel more than see that the djinn has his full attention, so Geralt opens his mouth.

In the loudest and clearest voice he can manage, he makes his wish.

* * *

Geralt doesn’t even bother closing the door of the cottage behind him when he comes in. It’s awfully quiet inside, but a quick scan of the place tells Geralt nothing is amiss. Still, his heart is beating twice as loud for a witcher, as he makes his way through the familiar hallways until he stops outside the bedroom. But no familiar heartbeats are there, the only thing greeting Geralt being an unmade bed. He swallows thickly and goes back to the kitchen, where he sees Adelene washing potatoes in a tub.

“Geralt!” she screams as she sees him standing in the doorway, and in a second she has her thin arms around his waist. Geralt greets her, but when he’s about to ask where the hell Jaskier is, Adelene grabs his hand.

“Come outside.”

The bright yellow dandelions assault his eyes as soon as he steps outside, and for the first time in his life Geralt thinks they’re beautiful. But they are completely forgotten the second he catches a figure kneeling in front of them, a figure with a mop of brown hair that’s watering the dandelions as he hums a familiar melody to himself.

Jaskier must hear the footsteps behind him, and starts talking before he turns around, “Oh Adelene, sweetheart, could you please pass me the…?”

Cornflower blue meets golden in a second that seems to stop time around them. Geralt doesn’t remember taking the few strides that separate him from his Jaskier as he gathers the smaller man in his arms, his sweet scent invading Geralt’s nostrils, an scent even better than the dandelions and all the flowers combined. Jaskier squeezes him just as tightly, and Geralt can feel the tears dampening his shoulder, but in this moment he can only think that it worked and that he could kiss destiny’s feet if she manifests herself in human form as a thanks for bringing Jaskier back to him.

Geralt realizes they’ve just been looking at each other for a long time when Jaskier snaps out of it and gives Geralt a playful shove.

“A bloody djinn, Geralt? Seriously?” he asks, but there’s no real bite in his tone.

Geralt frowns. “Second’s a charm?”

“Oh come here, you absolute scamp,” Jaskier demands before his lips are pressing against Geralt’s.

Witchers are not capable of feeling? Bullshit. Geralt feels like he could do this forever, and his wish might be granted after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my [tumblr](http://maegelletargaryen.tumblr.com). Feel free to ask me anything, or just talk about these soft boys.


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